


No Particular Place To Go

by ardentaislinn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3346787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentaislinn/pseuds/ardentaislinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Car thief Fitz thought that it would just be another normal night. But when he picked the wrong car to steal and found a bound woman in the trunk, the two of them are thrust into a life-changing adventure that neither of them expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Particular Place To Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notapepper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notapepper/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's Day Notapepper/Typhanni! I hope that it is everything you hoped it could be.

The car was pulling up just as Fitz exited the Burger King. The lights brushed over him as it turned into a park and Fitz almost dropped his dinner in shock. It was the latest Jaguar, all sleek lines and curves. He hadn’t even been aware they were released yet; he’d certainly never seen one. And he never would have thought to see one in this neighbourhood in the parking lot of a dingy fast food joint.

The decision was made before he even consciously thought about it. He wanted to drive that car. But more importantly he’d get a huge cut from Giovanni when the older man stripped it of identifying marks and sold it on.

Besides, Fitz loved a challenge, and not many things had ever qualified. This might.

He ducked around the corner of the restaurant as two guys in crisp suits got out of the car and strode towards the restaurant, locking the car behind them with a push of a button. As they disappeared out of sight he pulled out his laptop and a blank key that he kept on him at all times for situations just like this. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he adapted the template code he always used for the high end cars.

The second he was done, he crept out of his hiding spot and moved towards the car. He glanced through the glass doors at the men in suits, glad to see they were impatiently trapped in line behind a large group of drunken college kids. Fitz calculated he had about five minutes before the two men came back out.

He ducked down on the driver’s side of the car and carefully pressed the button to open the doors. Nothing happened. Fitz swallowed, contemplating abandoning the car, but the lure was far too strong. He pulled out his computer and desperately tried to speed read as he rapidly scrolled through his code, trying to find the error.

Pausing for a moment, he levered himself up slightly to peer through the windows of the car and sighed in relief as he saw the two men still at the counter, but they were ordering their food, so he didn’t have much time.

Fitz thought he might have heard a thump coming from the car but ignored the strange sound, focusing his energy on getting the frequency right.

He made some adjustments to the code and once again attempted to use the device, but nothing happened. Truly sweating now, Fitz just threw everything he had at the code, typing in anything he could think of that would bypass the security of the fancy vehicle.

With one last, desperate, push of the buttons, Fitz nearly laughed in relief as the car beeped open. He wiped his hands on the front of his jeans, not wanting to get chip grease all over the beautiful interiors. As he stood to open the door he happened to look up, only to see the two men in suits exiting the building. He froze half in and half out of the car; and when they caught sight of him they stopped in their tracks, staring at him with a surprise visible from where he stood. Until they both sprang into action at the same time.

The men both dropped their food in unison and began sprinting towards the car. Fitz slid into the driver’s seat and pressed the keyless ignition, letting out a breath of relief as the car purred into action. He eased the car into reverse, careful even now to treat it with the respect it deserved.

He narrowly missed hitting the two men as he braked and moved the car into first. He glanced at them in the rear-view mirror as he pulled off, allowing a small smile of triumph at having got away. But he was celebrating too soon. A glint of metal caught his eye in the mirror right before he heard some mysterious pops. His heart seized before he could even process what they were.

 _Guns_. They were shooting at the beautiful car! And, Fitz realised belatedly, _him._

He gunned the engine and the car sped out of the parking lot, bullets whizzing by at an even greater pace. The car fishtailed as he turned at the first left, desperate to get out of the line of fire. He took the next two turns well above the speed limit, until he was sure that he wasn’t being followed. Then he slowed to just under the legal limit, too experienced to attract the attention of the cops.

Thankfully the roads were largely deserted at this time of night. He cruised through the empty streets of Glasgow, taking his time getting to Giovanni’s. God knows when he would get a chance to drive a car like this again. Fitz had driven plenty of beautiful cars since he had recognised his electronic skills would help him graduate from the rubbish, low-rent cars into stealing the high end automobiles. However, this one was particularly nice to drive.

He sighed in pleasure, admiring the handling. Until he heard another thump coming from the back of the car. This time, Fitz slowed down, but from just from listening he could tell it wasn’t a problem with the engine. Abandoning his pleasure drive, Fitz headed straight for Giovanni’s.

He pulled into the dimly-lit garage, surprised to find Giovanni and a few of his mechanics working this late. They must have an important buyer lined up for the Porsche they were surrounding.

Fitz regretfully slid out of the car, barely registering the familiar smell of oil and dust. “Hey, I think there’s something…” he trailed off as he got a good look at Giovanni’s face. The normally swarthy man was pale with fright as he stared at the car.

“Where did you get this car?” he growled at Fitz in an undertone, his Glaswegian accent thicker than Fitz had ever heard it. Giovanni grabbed his shoulder and dragged him roughly away from the other men.

Fitz stared at him. “From a Burger King a few miles away. Why?”

“Do you know who this car belongs to?” he hissed, eyes darting back and forward between the car and Fitz.

Fitz swallowed. “No,” he admitted.

“Put it back,” Giovanni said suddenly, pushing Fitz toward the car. It was then that Fitz understood. Giovanni was _afraid_ of the men who owned the car. Surely not those two in the suits?

“Who owns it?” he demanded.

Giovanni shook his head. “Someone you really don’t want to know.”

“Giovanni…,” he muttered warningly.

The older man sighed. “You’ve heard of Kurgan?”

Fitz’s insides chilled at the name. “You’re kidding?”

Giovanni shook his head regretfully.

“Shit,” Fitz said eloquently. Fitz knew Kurgan only by reputation. He was the local crime boss, with whom Giovanni of course had quite close ties, same as most mid-level criminals and those that traded stolen goods. Kurgan’s ties to organised crime would have been scary enough. But there were rumours that he was also involved in a larger international organisation that was the very definition of evil.

Fitz was about to jump in the car immediately when he once again heard that suspicious thump. He vaguely registered Giovanni moving towards the office at the back of the shop, but his concentration was focused on the boot of the car. He took a few steps towards it, then slowly reached out to touch the button that would open the back of the car.

He had a brief glimpse of a woman with bound hands before two booted feet slammed into his chest and he reeled backwards and stumbled onto his arse.

The woman levered herself out of the car with surprising speed given the tape wrapped around her wrists behind her back and stuck across her lips. There was also a torn slice of the tape stuck to her jeans.

He took in the unexpected sight in the few seconds it took her to get out of the trunk and make a break for the open garage door. Coming to his senses, Fitz scrambled up and raced after her, easily catching her before she reached the exit as her run was slowed by the awkward angle of her arms.

He spun her around, but she struggled, still trying to escape. Fitz was almost tempted to let her go, but she needed help and he couldn’t just let her wander off on her own.

“Let me at least get the tape off first,” he told her softly. She stilled, but her muscles were taught with the desire to flee. He sensed the eyes of the whole garage on them, but ignored them in favour of conveying his sincerity to the woman.

He reached up slowly, holding her startled gaze as he tore off the tape across her mouth. She winced, then licked her clearly parched lips.

“What’s going on? Who are you?” she rasped, eyes darting about the shop. Her hair was sticking up out of her now-messy ponytail and there was a nasty bruise developing around her left eye.

“I could ask the same of you,” he replied. Her eyes narrowed and Fitz swallowed. “Given the, ah…situation, it’s only fair I answer first. This car doesn’t belong to me, and I found you in the trunk. That’s all I know.”

The woman eyed him, clearly considering the veracity of his claim. Evidently deciding he must be telling the truth, she held out her arms for him to deal with the tape binding them. Fitz took the hint and dug in his pocket for the trust pocket knife he always kept on him and began hacking at the silvery tape.

“That explains the gunshots I heard,” she muttered almost to herself.

“Do you want to tell me why you were tied up in the trunk of a car that belongs to Kurgan?” Fitz asked her softly as he worked. The more tape he removed, the more raw, damaged skin he revealed. A sick feeling pooled in his gut.

She scoffed. “And trade in one criminal for another?” she retorted.

Fitz frowned, a little stung. “I think ‘mob boss and murderer’ probably trumps ‘car thief’ in the hierarchy of evil, wouldn’t you?” It came out a little harsher than he intended, but she deflated slightly.

“I’m sorry, but this is just…,” she trailed off, seemingly at a loss for what to say. Fitz kept silent, understanding.

“Look, why don’t we-” he stopped, sensing movement behind him. He turned to see Giovanni hovering halfway between the office and where the two of them stood. Fitz’s blood chilled at the look on his face.

“What did you do?” Fitz demanded. The entire workshop went still. No clinking tools, no talking, just silence as the men stopped work to watch the exchange.

“I’m sorry, lad. I had to. If I didn’t tell them about the car, and they found out…,” Giovanni shrugged helplessly. “I have daughters,” was all he would say. Fitz could just imagine what a man like Kurgan would do to Giovanni’s pretty young daughters, but he still felt betrayed.

“So you are throwing me to the wolves instead?”

Giovanni’s gaze flickered helplessly between the two of them. Evidently coming to a decision, he said urgently, “run. Before they get here, just run.”

They did.

Sprinting out of the garage, the two of them raced down the street and turned a corner. Fitz looked back as they did, just in time to see two black SUVs pull up in front of Giovanni’s. He paused for a second as men in suits jumped out, reaching inside their jackets for… _shit_ , _guns._

Fitz took off, following the woman down the street and into an alley. After a few blocks, with Fitz’s chest heaving dramatically (he really should get in shape) she stopped and whirled around dramatically.

“Why are you following me?” she demanded, eyes flashing and breathing hard.

Fitz skidded to a halt, taken aback. “Uh…because we are running from the same guys?” he puffed.

“They don’t want you, they want me. Besides, how do I know you’re not working for them, really? I can’t trust you.”

“I hate to break it to you, but they do want me. If you know anything about Kurgan, you’d know how he feels about people taking what he considers to be his property. And that goes for both the car and, well…” he waved his hands vaguely in her direction.

She softened ever so slightly, but not by much. “I’ll do better on my own,” she told him. “All I need to do is find a payphone.”

“How well do you know the streets of Glasgow? Because no one knows them as well as I do. It’s kind of a given in my line of work.”

She eyed him distrustfully, obviously annoyed that he was right. “Alright. Take me to the nearest payphone. Then help will just be a phone call away.”

“Does it have to be a payphone? I have a mobile…”

“They might pick up any outgoing call signals. I don’t know what technology they have with them.”

Fitz shrugged and hitched his backpack higher onto his shoulder as he started walking at a brisk pace in the direction of a petrol station he knew was a few blocks away. They were lucky. Not many places had payphones these days.

He honestly didn’t know why he was helping her. He could evade Kurgan much easier on his own. But he liked to think he wasn’t the kind of man that would let a young woman in danger wander the streets of this rough city without some kind of protection. What little he could offer, that is.

Besides, she seemed tough, and he admired that. He probably would have broken down by now, but she strode on, determined.

“What’s your name, by the way? I’m Fitz.”

She slanted a glance at him. “Jemma,” she replied, a little reluctantly.

“If you don’t mind me asking…Why does Kurgan want you so bad?”

“That’s…classified,” she told him, a little smug if he wasn’t mistaken.

“If you don’t want to tell me, just say so. It doesn’t make any difference to me.”

“No, it’s literally classified.” She gave him a significant look. His interest perked up. Now, _that_ was intriguing.

“Do you work for MI5 or something?”

“Or something,” she replied.

He was about to ask more questions, but just then they turned the corner to reveal the petrol station across the road, lit up like a Christmas tree against a backdrop of stars. Fitz paused and glanced around. They’d had no sign of pursuit so far, which was odd. But they’d be so exposed if they crossed that road and stood under those lights.

He hesitated, considering options. Jemma obviously had no such qualms. She moved forward, only stopping when Fitz placed his hand on her arm.

“Wait,” he muttered urgently.

She looked around. “What do you see?” she whispered.

“Nothing yet, but it just doesn’t feel safe. We should go around.”

Her gaze darted about again, noting what he had. “Alright.” She nodded.

Fitz took her much further down the street, down a few side streets and around the back, eventually coming to the payphone through a darkened alley. Unfortunately, there was already a sketchy-looking man there using it, ( _who actually uses payphones anymore?)_ and they had to wait. The two of them hovered in the shadows, and Fitz couldn’t help but glance around nervously, watching the empty streets. An itch started between his shoulder blades, usually a sign of bad things to come.

Finally, the dodgy man hung up the payphone and they both moved forward, Jemma reaching out eagerly for the receiver.

At that exact same moment, two shiny black SUVs pulled into the station. Without even thinking, Fitz gripped Jemma’s wrist and dragged her away.

“How did they find us?” she asked breathlessly as they took off at a run. Fitz didn’t have an answer, but he didn’t want to spare the breath to tell her so.

A few strides later, though, she gasped and tugged on his arm. “Oh. They must have put a tracker in me.”

He glanced back at her, but kept moving. “What?”

“I thought they injected me with something to keep me drowsy and compliant, but what if it was a tracker?”

Fitz thought about it for a moment. It would make sense, and explain why Kurgan’s men hadn’t chased them down immediately, but had still found them so quickly.

He stopped and turned. Jemma managed to halt her forward momentum before crashing into him, but it was a near miss. They stared at each other for a long moment, chests heaving. They were so close that he could feel the fabric of her shirt brush against his chest.

“What do we do?” he asked. There was no point in running if they were just going to be found again. The world was spinning out of his grasp and he had no idea what to do. He anchored himself in the calmness of her eyes.

Until her gaze hardened and a chill slithered down his spine.

“You’ll have to cut it out,” she said firmly.

“What? No. Absolutely not.”

“Yes, right now. Before they come. Do you have a knife?”

 _Jesus_. “Only a pocket knife,” he said, reaching for it anyway.

She looked at him steadily, then tilted her head to present her neck. Even in the dim alley lights he could see the slight scar where they must have inserted it.

“It should be right here in my sternocleidomastoid muscle.” She pointed unerringly at the spot where he was looking. “Please, we don’t have much time.”

Taking a deep breath at her plea, Fitz steeled himself. He turned her slightly and backed her up against the warped wooden fence to steady her. She stared up at him with trusting eyes.

“Quickly,” she whispered, the hot puff of her breath brushing his face.

He exhaled in a short, hard breath and then flipped the sharpest blade out from his pocket knife. He pressed it against her throat.

“You’re sure?”

She nodded.

He sliced the blade shallowly into her skin, swallowing the wave of nausea that rose at the sight of her blood. She gasped, her hands gripping the shirt at his waist, pulling him closer. He crowded her, pressing against her length to hold her still with his body as he dug the point of the blade lightly into her neck, aiming for the small silicone tracker just below the surface.

She sucked in a breath and he felt a little light-headed as a fat trickle of blood burst from the wound and made its way down her neck. But Jemma was bravely holding still, so he could, too.

The small device finally popped out, bouncing against her shoulder before hitting the ground with a soft plick. Fitz clamped his now-shaking hand down over the wound.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” she replied.

Their eyes met and held. After a long moment, Fitz eased back. Jemma’s hand brushed over his as she took over the job of holding her wound.

A noise sounded at the other end of the alley and they spun, startled. Two men were striding towards them, sure and unhurried. Fitz and Jemma immediately took off running in the opposite direction. The footsteps behind them didn’t speed up at first. But as they rounded the corner a shout sounded behind them and it seemed that their pursuers had finally realised that the tracker was no longer embedded in Jemma’s neck.

They moved even faster, turning through the backstreets to evade the shitstorm chasing them. Fitz could barely breathe; his lungs were desperately trying to saw in enough air to keep him moving. But Fitz dodged and turned, leading Jemma through the backstreets of Glasgow. He had no idea if they had lost their tail. He couldn’t spare the energy to turn back and see. He just had to keep moving, get safe.

He didn’t even realise he had been aiming somewhere specific until he arrived. The building was closed, boarded up against the elements and less savoury elements of society. It didn’t take him long to pick the lock with his pocket knife, even with the blood staining the blade.

Jemma didn’t question his actions. She just stood close behind him, bouncing on her feet and glancing around nervously until the door swung open and he bundled her inside. He shut and locked the door behind them and leaned back against the door, desperately trying to catch a breath.

His limbs were shaking, the adrenaline draining out of him until he could hold himself up no longer and sank to the floor. Jemma did the same, leaning against the wall to his right.

For long minutes they said nothing, just stared into the murky darkness and listened to the sounds of the streets outside, ears attuned for any sound of pursuit. It took ten minutes before Fitz began to believe they were safe. And then he took another five to be sure. By then, both of them were breathing more normally.

He looked over at Jemma. The glow of a streetlight had pierced some cracks in the boards and lit across her face. Sweat gleamed across her brow and her eyes were hollow with exhaustion and for the first time Fitz realised that she actually very beautiful. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed it, but now that it had smacked him in the face, it seemed rather ridiculous. He comforted himself with the thought that other, more life-threatening things had been at the forefront of his brain since they had met.

“What is this place?” Jemma asked softly.

Fitz huffed out a breath, a little amused at himself. “My old school.”

She eyed him curiously for a moment. “What made you bring us here?”

He shrugged, not really sure how to answer her. “I wasn’t really thinking. I guess…when I was a kid I felt safe here. It was my place to escape.”

“From what?” she asked softly, her eyes wide.

“My mum got sick,” he said shortly. Then, not wanting to continue the subject anymore, he abruptly got to his feet. “We need to see to your wound.”

Jemma stood, too, and slowly eased her hand away from the wound. There wasn’t quite as much blood as he had expected. But, then, given his aversion to blood he’s usually afraid that any wound will gush rivers of the stuff.

“I think it’s mostly stopped bleeding,” he told her, while peering at it from as far away as he could justify in the low light.

“It’ll still need to be cleaned and dressed. God knows what was on that knife of yours.”

Fitz felt affronted for about half a second before realising she was probably right. “Alright. I’ll go now. You should stay here where it’s safe, since they won’t know my face.”

Jemma was already shaking her head before he finished. “I need to come with you or you won’t know what to get.”

Fitz scoffed. “I can get iodine and a bandage, no problem.”

Jemma levelled him with a challenging stare. “That just proves my point. Iodine would damage the skin around the wound and slow down healing. It needs to be a mild soap and some running water.” Fitz swallowed, feeling chastened. “It also might need stitches. Would you know what would work best in in lieu of surgical sutures?”

Fitz shook his head.

“I can go without you if you’d like?” she asked haughtily.

“No. We should go together. Just in case.”

She nodded and made a move toward the door. They both paused before opening it, listening for any sounds. But there was only the lonely silence of the Glasgow night.

They stepped out, and Fitz struck out in the direction of a nearby 24 hour chemist. It was in an even rougher neighbourhood than they had been wandering through already, (and he also had suspected for a while it was a front for a drug dealer) but it would have the best selection for what Jemma would need. They kept to the backstreets and shadows, alert to any signs of danger.

“Should I get us a car? It should be easy enough, there’s one right-“

“No!” she said vehemently. “No more crime, please. I like to follow the rules.”

“So, are you a doctor then?” he asked her, more curious than ever about this mysterious woman by his side.

“Yes, but not of the medical kind.” She was being slightly less evasive than before, and Fitz took that as a sign he could keep asking questions.

“So, you’ve got a PhD-“

“Two.”

“-Two PhD’s,” he corrected. “But you clearly know something about medical things.”

He caught the quick smile. “I work in an adjacent field. In a lab. With…chemical and biological things.”

“Like, animals?”

“There are occasionally animals in the lab, yes.”

He almost laughed. She was so delicately trying to dance around the truth while not answering him directly.

“You know you’re just making me more curious, right?”

She looked at him pleadingly. “I really can’t tell you. It’s classified.”

He sighed in defeat. “Alright. I’ll let you off for now. But eventually I will want to know exactly why I’m risking my life.”

“It’s important. I can tell you that much.”

“That’ll make a nice change,” he said absently. Before she could comment, he changed the subject. “After we patch you up, what’s our next step?”

“I still just need a phone. And a safe place to wait. Then this will all be fixed.” She sounded a little desperate, as if she wasn’t so sure that was true.

“We should get a hotel room,” he told her, then felt heat crawl onto his face at his words. “Not for, you know…For running water, like you said you’d need for-," he gestured at the wound on her neck, “and we’d be out of sight.”

“Right, yes. Good idea.”

Thankfully they came upon the chemist not long after. The outside was lit by a single flickering fluorescent bulb above the door, casting the surrounding areas in deep shadow. In this part of town the streetlights spent most of their time broken, so the entire street looked dark and inhospitable.

It was perfect.

They crossed the street without fear of being seen and entered into the small shop. The clerk looked up and then back down to his phone, completely uninterested in them. Jemma picked up a basket and moved unerringly to the sections she needed. As she filled the basket, she leaned over to him to whisper in his ear. “I hope you’ve got money. They didn’t exactly leave me with my bag when they kidnapped me.”

Fitz tapped his pocket and felt his wallet there. “Yes, just don’t spend too much. I don’t have much cash on me and we can’t use a card in case they trace it. Not that I know if Kurgan has those resources, but it wouldn’t surprise me and it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Jemma nodded and focused again on the shelves in front of her. Fitz felt an itch at his back and turned to see the clerk eyeing them curiously. The man mainly seemed focused on Jemma, his gaze roving over her in a way Fitz didn’t like. Was it just because she was indisputably attractive? Did he think they were shoplifting? Had he seen the blood on Jemma’s collar? Or was there another reason for his interest?

A feeling of unease tightened in his gut. He glanced down at the phone in the man’s hand and a thought occurred to him. Kurgan was responsible for most of the crime in this town. If this _was_ a front to sell drugs, then-

The clerk raised his gaze and their eyes met. The bottom dropped out of Fitz’s stomach at the gloating pleasure in the man’s gaze.

“Jemma, we have to go.”

“I’m nearly done,” she replied, not looking at him.

“Right now,” he said, and began hauling her out of the shop. She trotted after him willingly enough, though her confusion was clear.

“Fitz, what…?”

“Quickly,” he told her urgently.

Immediately outside the shop there was a car. Fitz didn’t care whose it was. It was an old, crappy mustard-coloured 70s Volvo, and incredibly easy to steal.

In less than a minute he had the door open and the wires under the steering column in his hand. They sparked quickly, the engine roaring to life.

“Get in,” he told Jemma through the door, throwing his backpack into the back seat. She shook her head, looking distressed. “The clerk works for Kurgan. He must have put the word out to everyone. My guess is Kurgan offered a reward. Those men are on their way here, so _we have to go_.”

Still she hesitated, looking torn.

“We’ll return the car after we are safe, alright?”

Jemma nodded, reaching for the handle. The door was partially open when Fitz heard squealing tires echoing down the street. He glanced in the rear-view mirror in time to see two black SUVs slide around the corner and head straight for them.

Jemma saw them too, because she threw herself into the car without any further hesitation. Fitz took off before she had fully shut her door. He gunned the engine and raced down the street, immediately turning left at the next intersection. He had to admit he was sick and tired of all this running. It was too early in the morning and he was far too tired for this sort of shit.

With that thought, Fitz focused his mind. This was his wheelhouse. He had a car and the empty Glasgow streets in front of him.

Luckily, this part of town was a maze of short, narrow streets. Fitz was able to wind them through the streets, keeping far enough ahead of the SUV that they couldn’t see the turns he was making. He sped up, avoiding a dead end and turning at the next left. He could hear the SUV getting further and further behind, unable to anticipate his turns.

“You know these streets well,” came the quiet voice beside him. He glanced across at Jemma, realising that she still clutched the basket from the chemist in her arms.

“I grew up around here,” he told her. He wasn’t ashamed of his working class roots, but something about her made him wish things had been different.

Eventually he slowed down once he was sure they had lost the SUV. He allowed the car to cruise the streets at an easy pace. “I’m sorry we had to do more crime,” he said eventually, only half teasing. She huffed out an amused breath.

“Under the circumstances, I can see the necessity.”

They shared a look and Fitz felt his heart warm inexplicably. “So, I know a place. It’s a motel, well out of the way of Kurgan’s main area of operation. It should be safe, if you think that will be alright?”

She leaned back in the seat, looking drowsy and pale. “Sounds fine,” she told him with a wan smile.

“How do you feel?” he asked, suddenly worried. Exactly how much blood had she lost?

“Let’s just say I’m not at full capacity.” Fitz just eased his foot slightly down on the accelerator, speeding up just a little at her reply.

“Thank you for everything,” she said drowsily, her head lolling. “I’m glad you came along after all.”

Fitz smiled, knowing that was probably a big admission from her. “Rest now. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

She was asleep before he finished the sentence. Fitz smiled softly as he cruised into the Glasgow night.

`

Fitz pulled up to the Deckard Hotel and parked close to the front desk. He left Jemma asleep in the front seat and went in to talk to the clerk.

"I need a room for a few hours for me and my girlfriend," he said, the last word sticking awkwardly in his throat. The young man, lopsided nametag declaring him as ‘Sean’, accepted his offered cash and handed him a key, barely saying a word. Fitz put a fake name on the form and left to wake up Jemma.

She grumbled adorably as he placed his hand on her shoulder and whispered softly to her. Eventually he managed to coax her out, and by the time they made it to the room she was far more lucid.

"We need to see to the wound," she told him. "I'll take a shower, wash off the grime and clean it, then if you could dress it?"

Fitz nodded, glad to see the wound appeared to have stopped bleeding. He wasn't sure how he'd react if he had to stitch her up.

The room was dingy and dark, but was anonymous enough to suit their purposes. Fitz had an idle wish that he could have taken Jemma to an upmarket hotel, but she see didn’t seem to even notice the tired and worn decor.

As she went to into the bathroom, Fitz left the room to go back to the car. He'd left it running, so he could jump straight in and move it around the back and out of sight if the road. Once it was as hidden as it could be, he used his trusty pocket knife to unscrew the numberplate. Lastly, he took out any evidence of their occupation of the car and wiped down all the surfaces. No sense in evading Kurgan only to be picked up by the cops.

His experience showed in his efficiency, but for the first time in a long time he had cause to question the life path he'd fallen into. His mind drifted to the woman inside. She'd clearly lived a life worlds apart from his, and it was obvious that she had no respect for his line of 'work'. Not that _he_ particularly respected it. But he at least understood it.

Would she, if he explained it to her?

Fitz knocked tentatively at the hotel door and waited for her to grant him entry before he slowly pushed it open. She was sitting primly on the side of the bed, clad only in a white towel. Her hair was damp and pinned up away from her neck, but he could see drops falling from it and sliding down her naked skin. He gulped and blinked rapidly, trying to clear his mind.

“Ready for me?” he asked, then winced at how that sounded. She nodded as a quick smile flitted across her face and indicated the array of supplies she had spread out next to her.

Fitz came into the room and sat next to her, their knees brushing as he turned to face her.

“Just tell me what to do.” His fingers brushed over the skin on her neck as he swept tendrils of her hair out of the way. Her eyes were closed and she tilted her head to give him better access, swaying towards him. Fitz stilled, wondering exactly how long since she’d slept. She must be practically falling asleep where she sat.

“I’ll try to be quick,” he told her in as business like tone as he could manage. It came out as more of a whisper.

Jemma straightened and nodded. She began issuing very precise instructions and Fitz followed them as best he could, trying not to get distracted by the expanse of naked skin hovering close to him. By the time he was done and she was all patched up, even Fitz was beginning to feel the exhaustion of the day weighing his limbs down. It was less than an hour before dawn.

“We should get some sleep,” he told her. She murmured her agreement, then stopped.

“I forgot. I need to make a phone call. This disaster should all be sorted out then.”

“Oh,” said Fitz, more distracted by the thought that he would probably never see her again once it was all over than the impending rescue from the situation.

“Would you mind…,” she gestured for him to give her some space and he jumped up.

“Yes, of course. I’ll have a shower, will I?” The thought crossed his mind briefly that it was interesting that she didn’t want him privy to her conversation with their rescuers. Given the confidentiality surrounding her work, he deduced that she was calling her boss or something. Which of course made him doubly curious as to what she did.

All thoughts scattered from his mind the instant the hot water hit his skin. He sighed in relief as the dirt and panic of the night was washed from his skin. He stayed there, watching the steam rise far longer than he normally would.

By the time he shut off the water, had a towel wrapped around his waist, and had his washed clothes hanging next to Jemma’s, he would have expected her phone call to be over. Instead, he froze at the door as he heard some oddly familiar phrases. The pieces started to come together in his mind.

She hung up a few minutes later and Fitz wandered into the room.

“Oh, did you hear any of that?” Jemma asked him worriedly. Her gaze drifted briefly over his torso, then rocketed back up to his face.

“Enough,” he told her. “You work for SHIELD.” He stated it firmly, suddenly sure that his suspicion was correct.

Jemma blinked and reared back, staring at him in astonishment. “How did you know?”

He sat, wishing he could grab his backpack for a change of clothing and all too conscious of his near-nakedness. “I wasn’t always a car thief.”

“You worked for SHIELD?” She could not have sounded more surprised if he had told her he had been the pope.

“Not quite,” he told her with a self-deprecating smile. “They recruited me out of school where I had skipped a few grades. I was really great with machines, and they had come across some of my designs. I completed the initial training, when we learned about the emergency codes and things that you just used.  But then Mum got sick and I had to come back to take care of her after only a few days in the academy. I lost my scholarship. And she needed me, so I stayed. But I was sixteen. No one would take my engineering skills seriously at that age, and I hadn’t had any formal training.

“So, I interned as a mechanic for a while, but it wasn’t enough to pay the bills for the two of us. When Giovanni offered me a way to make more money, I took it. And I was good at it. I was one of his most successful kids. Soon enough it was all I knew. By the time Mum finally passed away I didn’t really have any other options. I couldn’t beg SHIELD to take me back. I was on the wrong side of the law and years behind any potential classmates. And I didn’t really know how to go straight anymore. So I stuck with it.”

Fitz shrugged, trying to brush off the years of boredom, self-doubt and heartache that he had just compressed into a short speech. He didn’t want to look at her. Couldn’t bear to face the disbelief or disgust that was no doubt on her face.

Instead, he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Fitz glanced up to see unshed tears in her eyes. “She must have meant so much to you, for you to give up yours dreams like that.”

Fitz felt his own eyes burn. “She was all I had,” he told her, his voice rasping with pain.

Jemma’s hand slipped around to his back as she pulled him into a hug. Fitz hesitated a moment before he broke, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her shoulder. He could feel the tears leaking from his eyes but found he didn’t care. It had been too long since he’d cried for her.

He breathed in deep, comforted by the fresh clean scent of her and the warm weight of her arms around him. Jemma just held him, saying nothing but nevertheless making him feel safe and strong.

“Thank you,” he whispered eventually, his lips brushing her bare shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” she replied into his neck.

Neither pulled away as they clung together for a few minutes longer. Eventually, Fitz eased back with regret and Jemma’s arms slipped away.

Their eyes locked and Fitz felt something building between them. His breath was shallow in his chest and he couldn’t look away from her eyes. Against his will, he leaned forward, and Jemma followed suit. Her gaze flickered to his lips. He licked them unconsciously in anticipation and her gaze riveted on the movement. He was only inches away, so close.

A loud clatter sounded outside.

Fitz leapt up, away from Jemma, and himself and that moment. He stood there staring at the wall, unsure quite what to do with himself. For a sense of purpose, he wandered over to the window and peeked out, only to see the clerk from before dumping a crate of empty cans into a nearby dumpster. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Suddenly feeling back in control of himself, Fitz turned back to Jemma. She was watching him warily, and he attempted a smile to put her at ease.

“Right, so. What’s the plan?”

“We’ll have extraction in four hours in a location near here. There aren’t any free agents close to us, I’m afraid.”

Fitz nodded. “Right. Best get some sleep then. You take the bed.”

“Fitz…,” Jemma began, then hesitated. “What will you do after all this is over?”

Fitz shrugged, feeling a tension creep into his jaw. “Go back to my life, I suppose.” He suddenly couldn’t think of anything less appealing.

“Oh,” said Jemma, inexplicably sounding a touch hurt. “Then, yes, I’d like to sleep for a while.”

She slid into the bed, still wrapped in a towel. Then, after a few moments of wriggling, the towel was on the floor and Fitz was trying desperately not think about how naked she would be under the quilt. She had effectively blocked him from the bed, taking the side away from the wall so that he would have to clamber over her to get in.

Fair enough, he supposed, given the temptation she presented.

She shut her eyes and turned away from him. He was too tired to try to figure out why she was projecting such intense annoyance, and instead grabbed his backpack where it sat by the door. He couldn’t believe he had managed to hold onto it for this long. Inside was a spare change of clothes. He had learned early on that he sometimes had to hide out for a little while until heat died off him, so had developed the habit of carrying emergency clothes with him.

He changed quickly, conscious of the woman in the bed, even knowing she was probably asleep by now.   He pushed the cracked vinyl armchair against the wall and settled in with a creak, slowly drifting to sleep.

`

A few hours later, he and Jemma were once again on the road, tired, groggy and barely speaking. They’d stolen another car at Fitz’s insistence, this time a mid-90s Honda hatchback, and were driving further out of the city, the early morning sun at their back.

Fitz scratched at his stubble with his free hand, wishing they’d managed to grab a razor in their panicked flight from the chemist. The meeting with SHIELD loomed on the horizon - both literally and figuratively - and Fitz couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive. The last time he’d had dealings with SHIELD he’d been a promising young prodigy with a very bright future ahead of him. Now, the lengths he had fallen were written all over him with his unkempt clothing and rough looks.

Still, the chances were that whoever was coming to save Jemma from this mess wouldn’t know who he was. He could stay anonymous. And it’s not like he could go with them to their base, where they would no doubt check his identity.

It did bring up the question Jemma had asked the previous night. What _would_ he do now? Even if Kurgan was taken into custody, or dealt with in a more extreme manner, he had extremely powerful friends. There was no way Fitz could stay in Glasgow. Maybe not even in the UK.

His gaze slid over to Jemma as he wondered where she was based. But then he brought his eyes back to the road and dismissed the thought. It’s not like she would be interested in him, anyway.

“So, er, what’s all this about, then? Why did Kurgan want you?” He thought she would once again evade the question, mention how classified it is, but she surprised him. Apparently she had decided to trust him.

“I work in a lab with a number of other scientists at SHIELD. We are mostly allowed to develop our own projects there. I developed a serum, similar to the one used on Captain America in the 1940s. It isn’t quite complete. I still need to iron out some side effects, so SHIELD and I have not publicly announced its existence. Apparently Kurgan, or whoever he works for, found out somehow, so he kidnapped me and tried to get me to finish it in a lab he had set up for me. Then, he and his organisation would control it. You can imagine how disastrous that would be.”

“The gash on your head…” Fitz began, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

Jemma’s voice was wry. “As you can imagine, I wasn’t very cooperative.”

Fitz felt a chill go down his spine and tried to banish the sick feeling that assailed him. “They’ll get what’s coming to them,” he told her, gruff and sure.

He saw her give him a reassuring smile out of the corner of his eye.

“They locked me in the lab one day with no supervision. I took the opportunity to destroy it. That’s why they were moving me when you found me. They were taking me to a secondary location.”

“Luckily they stopped for Burger King as they did so.”

Jemma laughed lightly. “Is that where you were when you saw the car?”

Fitz chuckled and nodded. “You can’t imagine my shock when a brand new Jaguar pulled into the parking lot of a fast food joint in one of the worst neighbourhoods in Glasgow.”

“A temptation too great to resist, I imagine.” Fitz glanced over, expecting to see judgement in her eyes. Instead, amused teasing lit her face.

“You have no idea,” he told her with a grin.

They fell into a companionable silence. Fitz kept glancing over at her profile, mesmerised by the way the light bathed her face. He wondered if he would ever see her again, or if in one hour he would have seen her for the last time.

It was a melancholy thought.

Fitz wondered _(hoped)_ that her thoughts had tended in the same direction, when she suddenly blurted out, “You could come with me, you know.”

Fitz slid his gaze over to hers, judging the intention behind her statement. She seemed nothing but earnest.

“To SHIELD? You know they’d never have me.”

“Why not? They wanted you once. And if they saw that you could be a real asset to them, they’d surely give you another chance.”

“I wish that could be true.”

Jemma leaned forward eagerly. “It can’t hurt to ask, right?”

“I guess not,” he murmured, thinking he would probably go through a lot more humiliation to be able to spend a little more time with her.

She sat back in satisfaction. “According to the instructions they gave me, it should be the next left up ahead.”

Fitz turned where she had indicated, which was little more than a dirt track between two fields. He slowed down to navigate the stones in the path.

A strange throbbing noise sounded in the distance, getting louder as they continued. Eventually, they rounded a bend with a hill on one side, suddenly revealing a UH-72 Lakota helicopter sitting in the middle of an otherwise-empty field. The blades were still spinning, but no human presence was obvious.

It was an eerie sight. Fitz was no SHIELD agent, but surely a running helicopter would draw unnecessary attention.

He stopped the car a little distance away and left the engine running as he and Jemma slowly stepped out. They both stared at the helicopter apprehensively. Fitz felt that awareness in his spine that told him that something was wrong. The instinct he had gained by spending so many years on the streets hadn’t failed him yet.

“I think we should head back,” he told her, not taking his eyes off the chopper.

“I’m sure it’s fine.” She didn’t sound sure. Nevertheless, she began slowly making her way towards it and Fitz had no choice but to follow.

Halfway there, they both stopped. There was movement inside the dark cabin of the helicopter.

Frozen, they watched as a body dressed in black was rolled out of the cockpit. It landed on the ground with an inaudible thump, drowned out by the still rotating blades. Fitz swallowed as his eyes narrowed in on the SHIELD logo attached to the arm of the agent, visible even from where they stood.

Before his brain could even process what had happened, he began backing away, moving closer to Jemma in the same movement. A loud crack sounded through the air, a clear warning, and they both flinched and grabbed for each other, but stilled their movements almost instantly.

They waited for an endless moment, staring into the darkness of the helicopter’s cabin.

The gun appeared first, held casually by a black-clad arm. Then, his head, ducking beneath the arch of the entrance to the chopper. Lastly, followed his suited body, all 6”5 inches of it. Fitz had heard rumours of Kurgan’s intimidating stature, but hadn’t quite believed it until that moment.

The man was terrifying.

Kurgan grinned at them as he hopped down from the helicopter, landing heavily on his feet. He wiped at a spray of blood decorating the side of his face, unintentionally smearing it across his cheek.

Fitz’s blood ran cold. There was no mercy in this man’s gaze. Fitz knew his time on this earth was about to come to an end.

Kurgan stepped forward. His mouth was moving, but they couldn’t hear the words over the incessant thud of the helicopter. It looked like he was saying, “Hail Hydra,” but Fitz couldn’t process what that might mean.

He and Jemma both began backing away desperately, practically clinging to each other. Kurgan aimed the gun, but didn’t fire. Instead, he turned behind him, and at some signal, two more people, a man and a woman both dressed in SHIELD black, jumped out of the chopper.

Fitz had a brief flare of hope before both of them levelled their guns in his direction. His heart thundered in his chest, and a ringing in his ears drowned out any ambient noise. He could feel Jemma tugging desperately on his arm, trying to drag him back to the car, but he was stumbling, unable to fully control his limbs.

A gunshot went off, and Fitz felt a sharp sting in his arm. He saw Kurgan grab the gun of the agent who fired. This time, the words he spoke were clear. “Spare the girl.”

They wanted Jemma alive, presumably so she could finish the serum for them. He couldn’t let them take her again.

With that thought, Fitz gained a purpose and more control of himself. The world around him became sharply focused. He turned towards the car and ran, keeping Jemma close to discourage the agents from shooting at them again.

As they reached the car, Fitz turned back to see Kurgan and the agents hot on their trail.

He threw himself behind the wheel and shifted into reverse. As soon as Jemma was beside him, he stomped on the accelerator, sending the car flying back down the road. Stones skidded as he rounded the corner, twisted around in his seat so he could see the path behind them.

He was halfway back to the road when the sound of the helicopter’s rotors became more intense. The chopper rose over the hill, coming straight for them.

Fitz reversed out onto the road and slammed the clutch into second and taking off. The gearbox protested, but he didn’t care. He just needed to get to the safety of the city.

He could hear Jemma panting beside him as he raced down the road, completely uncaring of the local speed limits. The throb of the helicopter blades followed them, driving into Fitz’s skull.

Any minute he expected gunfire, or worse, not sure what kind of hardware a SHIELD Lakota might carry these days. But nothing came. The helicopter just hovered over them, following them.

“They won’t fire while they might hit you,” he said as he realised, easing off the accelerator just a touch.

“What are we going to do?” Jemma asked. “Maybe if I go with them, they’ll spare you.”

Fitz gave her a disbelieving glance, then turned back to the road. “That’s ridiculous. We’ll get somewhere safe, then figure it out.”

“Where is safe?” she asked. “If SHIELD isn’t then I have no idea where to turn.”

“We’ll go back into the city. They won’t be able to follow us there. That will give us some time.”

She leaned back in her seat, letting out a breath. “Alright,” she acquiesced. “We need to see to your arm, anyway.”

He let out a breath of relief at her agreement, then glanced down at his arm. For the first time he realised there was quite a bit of blood. A wave of nausea rolled through his stomach but he swallowed it down, focusing determinedly on the road ahead.

They continued on into town, the sound of the helicopter dogging them the whole way.

`

They lost the chopper as soon as the area became more populated with houses and cars.

Fitz drove around the outskirts of Glasgow, trying to stay in suburban areas, but not wanting to go too far into the city centre where Kurgan’s power was strongest. He shifted uneasily in his seat, feeling restless, and he tried to ignore the throbbing in his arm.

“Do you get the feeling they gave up to easily?” said Jemma’s voice from his left.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” he told her. “He must have a backup plan.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment, considering. Then, Fitz sighed. “We should probably change cars again.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know how, but if he’d managed to get a tracker on the car…” Fitz trailed off. “Besides, they’ve probably recorded the number plate.”

“Oh, of course.”

Fitz pulled over a few minutes later in a generic, quiet neighbourhood street behind an early-2000s model blue Toyota Camry. He got out, and Jemma followed suit. Thankfully the road was far enough back from the main roads that there was no through traffic, and there didn’t seem to be any busybody neighbours around. They'd got lucky.

He took out his backpack and the rest of their things and set them on the side of the road.

“Let me look at your arm,” Jemma demanded.

“Once we are safe,” he told her with a shake of the head.

“Now, please. I won’t have you fainting on me.”

Fitz sighed and held out his arm, carefully not looking at it. She pushed up the sleeve of his white t-shirt, now stained red, and sucked in a sympathetic breath. Fitz looked over in time to see her wince, but still wouldn’t look at the wound.

“Bad?” he asked, his arm aching.

Jemma shook her head. “The bullet went through. I’ll need to stitch it up, though. I’m glad I picked up those sutures.”

“Must you?” Fitz pleaded.

She levelled him with a look. “Yes,” she replied definitively.

Grumbling, Fitz backed up onto the bonnet of the car while Jemma opened his back pack and got out the remnants of the materials they had used to patch her up.

Fitz stared at the ground and gritted his teeth against the pain as she began to tend him. She was standing so close that Fitz was sure he could smell her fresh, clean scent.

“Did you hear what Kurgan said as he got out of the helicopter?” he asked to distract himself from both her and the agony of what she was doing to his arm.

Jemma shook her head. “I couldn’t hear anything.”

“I could have sworn he said ‘Hail Hydra’.”

Jemma’s brow creased into a frown. “Hydra? They haven’t been around since World War Two, when Peggy Carter and Captain America eradicated them.”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know much about them, but I do know they aren’t really around much anymore. That’s why I found it strange.”

“I guess it’s possible there are still some believers around the place.” She didn’t sound convinced.

“There have been rumours going around for years that Kurgan was involved with some big, international criminal organisation. What if that’s Hydra?”

Jemma paused her ministrations for a second. “I think if Hydra were a big, international criminal organisation we would have heard something by now. Hard to keep something like that a secret.” She focused in again on his wound.

“So you think maybe Kurgan has a small group inside? Someone that tipped him off to your location and the two agents that were with him?”

“Yeah. It’s possible he is using SHIELD intel if he has a mole. A scary thought.”

“You should warn SHIELD when you get back,” Fitz said, a melancholy weight settling over him.

Jemma’s jaw tightened. “I will,” she said, then stopped talking, focusing on getting him cleaned up.

Finally, she was done. Fitz hopped off the bonnet and flexed his arm, testing.

“It’s a good field dressing,” he told her, impressed. Not that he’d ever had a field dressing before, but it felt solid.

“You like it?” she replied. “It’s my first.” They shared a smile.

Fitz then moved passed her and began to wipe down the car as he had done for the previous one they had abandoned. He worked outwards from the middle, taking anything they may have left behind with him. Not much he could do about the bullet hole in the driver’s door, but that shouldn’t be traced back to them.

He felt Jemma behind him, her eyes intent. She seemed to be very interested in what his hands were doing, and so Fitz began to babble in explanation.

“We need to get rid of fingerprints, hairs, that sort of thing. We don’t want to get arrested while trying to evade Kurgan. And my prints are on file, so they’ll be able to match them.” He paused for a moment as he realised something. “Besides, Kurgan probably has people on the police force. Just like he obviously does in SHIELD.”

“That would make sense,” she replied, she sounded distracted. Fitz concluded that she must be more worried than she was letting on.

He stopped and pulled himself out of the car. As he turned, he was momentarily distracted by the fact that Jemma appeared to be staring at his butt. But then she blinked and looked up at him innocently and he realised he must have been mistaken.

“We’ll figure something out,” Fitz said, sounding unsure even to his own ears. But Jemma nodded decisively.

Not wanting to disappoint her, he turned back to the car and finished wiping it down. Then, with barely any effort, he jacked the Toyota and they were on their way.

Fitz drove them to the opposite side of the city from where the disastrous meeting had taken place, making sure to avoid the main areas of the city. To fill the silence, he asked Jemma questions about her life, and she told him how she had been interested in science from a young age, and her parents had encouraged that love. He inferred from her talk of private classes and tutoring that her family had been quite wealthy, but other than that they had a lot in common.

They were both young geniuses that had had trouble making friends. They’d found refuge in their work: her, chemistry and biology; him, engineering and physics.

Fitz couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if they had met at the Academy. Would they have hated each other? Been close friends? Given that he could barely string a coherent sentence together around her now, he doubted the him of a decade ago would have managed a single word. Likely she would have rightfully disdained him.

It made Fitz almost grateful that this disaster had happened to bring them together. He was in way too deep.

`

It was mid-afternoon when they finally found a suitable motel. The Tiki Motel was probably older than both of them combined, and clearly hadn’t been updated in almost as long. They had stopped for some Burger King on the way, and Fitz had made a lame joke about how it was almost their ‘place’. Thankfully Jemma had just smiled.

They pulled into the parking lot, and both stepped out. On the way to the check-in desk, Fitz jumped as Jemma slid under his arm and attached herself to his side.

“For cover,” she murmured throatily in his ear. Fitz nodded a little too quickly as they strode into the front room, his fingers brushing her waist.

The cover was barely necessary. The woman hardly looked at them as they signed in under a fake married name. Fitz’s hand shook as he scribed it out.

They were given their keys with no fuss and pointed to their room. It was no nicer than the previous night’s accommodation. It still had that musty smell of age and neglect.

Still, Fitz had no cause to complain as he dropped his backpack and collapsed backwards onto the bed, because Jemma did the same by his side.

They stared up at the ceiling, legs dangling off the edge of the mattress.

“We should come up with a plan,” Jemma said, then yawned mightily.

“Yeah,” said Fitz, but he couldn’t quite get his mind to focus.

The next thing Fitz knew, he found himself lying on his side. His front was warm, but his back was chilled. The warmth in front of him shifted, and Fitz realise it was a person. Or, more accurately, Jemma.

He cracked one eye open to find her facing him, her eyes closed and a smile on her face. Her leg was thrown over his hip, while his was settled over her other one. As he blinked his way back to consciousness, Jemma’s hand slipped around his waist and under his T-shirt, splaying on his back. His hips shifted involuntarily, wanting to move closer. But he stopped himself. She was clearly asleep and vulnerable. He didn’t want to take advantage.

He eased back, intending to escape before he embarrassed both of them, but her eyes popped open. He stilled.

“Hi,” he murmured.

She smiled gently. “Hi.”

He lost himself for a moment in her eyes, soft and warm from sleep. Then, remembering where they were and why, he glanced above her head to the old alarm clock on the bedside table. The glowing red numbers indicated it was almost 7pm.

He sighed. “Now we really do need to make a plan.” He still made no move to leave. He wondered if he was, in fact, incapable of leaving her when she looked so much like a well-loved woman. His hand had somehow found itself on her shoulder, and the temptation to slide it upwards and cup her face, press his lips to hers, guide her mouth open and…

He cleared his throat and sat up on the edge of the bed. Jemma’s leg fell away as she also rose.

“I’m still so tired,” she complained.

He huffed out a breath of laughter. “Me too. But unfortunately we have to figure something out soon, or we will be on the run together forever.” Her head dropped onto his shoulder, and Fitz had the sudden thought that that future wouldn’t be so bad.

“OK,” she said firmly, patting his arm as she stood up. “We can do this. We are geniuses. We know what Kurgan wants, which is the formula. We just need to work out how to use that against him.”

“Right. The formula. Can you make some?”

Jemma shook her head. “Not any that works. I could make something that _looks_ like it, though.”

“OK, so we can’t trade the serum for our lives. Not that we would,” he added hastily in response to her look. “But we can tell him we have the serum and then, at the meet…,” his voice rose in question.

Jemma’s voice got eerily quiet. “I’ll make it into a bomb.”

“A chemical bomb?”

“Yes. I mean. It would be dangerous. Chemical bombs are notoriously unstable.”

“I could help with that.” Jemma turned to him in surprise and Fitz felt heat rise to his face. “I mean, I could design a casing to keep the chemical components separate. And if I put a targeting system on it, then it wouldn’t be as dangerous to the person delivering the bomb.”

Fitz looked into Jemma’s eyes and knew that person would be her. She would brook no arguments about it.

“Alright,” she said slowly. “This might actually work.” But then her face fell. “We don’t have a lab, or any tools or substances.”

“That’s alright. I’ll pop down to Tesco’s now and grab some stuff. Just let me know what you need.”

She eyed him. “We’ve been through this. You wouldn’t know what I’d need.”

Fitz sighed. “Alright. We’ll both pop in to Tesco, grab what we need, and then come back here. How long do you think you’ll need to make the chemical compounds? So we know when to arrange the meeting with Kurgan.”

Jemma scrunched up her face in thought. “Maybe 12 hours? Being generous. So lunch time tomorrow?”

Fitz nodded. “Yeah, that works for me, too.”

They grinned happily at each other, and Fitz felt reenergised with purpose.

`

An hour later they stumbled back into the motel room, ladened down with shopping bags full of an assortment of strange things. They’d used the last of Fitz’s cash to buy them and some dinner.

They spread the food out on the bed and leant against the headboard, flicking on the TV for some background noise. Jemma began telling him about her life at SHIELD, making it sound ridiculously inviting with tales of state-of-the-art labs and endless funding. Fitz was riveted, and couldn’t help noticing Jemma slide glances at him as she told him particularly tempting titbits, judging his reaction.

The food was disappearing quickly when the breaking news signal sounded on the TV. They both looked up in time to see an exterior shot of the Deckard Motel, where they had stayed the night before. A news reporter shifted into frame.

Fitz dived for the remote and cranked the volume.

“Earlier today, a brutal and senseless attacked occurred at this peaceful motel. Sean Ford, long-time employee of Deckard’s, was minding his own business, when three thugs allegedly attacked and tortured him for reasons currently unknown. He is currently in Accident & Emergency undergoing treatment, and is considered lucky to be alive. More news as it develops.”

Fitz clicked off the TV and he and Jemma sat frozen in tense silence.

“Do you think that was Kurgan? Because of us?” Jemma asked eventually.

Fitz swallowed down a burst of raging grief, and nodded. “It sounds like his style.”

The true horror of what they were encountering hit them for the first time. Kurgan’s brutality had always been an abstract until that moment.

“Our plan will work, won’t it?” she asked.

“I hope so,” was all Fitz could manage.

They packed up their food without further comment and got to work largely in silence. Jemma set up in the bathroom, and Fitz used the desk in the main bedroom. Fitz turned the TV on as loud as he dared to drown out any odd noises their neighbours might hear, sticking to CBeebies to avoid any more bad news. He worked on the casing first, using various sizes of metal tubing, and a complex system of gears to create a safe house for the various chemicals.

Noise and vision ceased to exist as his focus zeroed in on the small object in his hand. He hadn’t had such flow since before his mother became sick. He also hadn’t had such a complex task since he returned from his short stint at the Academy. He’d largely allowed his mind to atrophy, given that there had been no point in setting himself challenging tasks.

Now, he was finally creating something again, and he’d had no idea how good he would feel.

When it was done, he took it over to the bathroom, pausing in the doorway to wait until Jemma was ready. The place was full of containers - most of them glass - of varying shapes and sizes. There were also makeshift Bunsen burners and even something that looked a little like a centrifuge. Jemma looked up at him and grinned.

“I feel like I’m in high school again, creating strange substances in my parent’s bathroom.”

Fitz laughed. “I always used the lounge. Mum would yell at me about leaving a mess all the time.”

He held up the casing and her eyes lit. “Let me see.”

Instead of handing it to her, Fitz moved closer, careful not to bump anything. He opened it, showing her how all the components worked together. Her hands settled over his to still them as she peered at it. Fitz felt his heart skid to a halt.

“Is it alright? I can make some adjustments, if you need me to.”

Her head came up and he saw the delight on her face. “It’s perfect.”

The tension eased out of his muscles. “Good. Great. I just need to develop the targeting system. It should be fairly easy, just a mechanism to blow the force out towards the...well, Kurgan.”

Fitz recognised the look of admiration on her face and had no idea what to do with it.

“Not everyone could design a guided explosion for a chemical bomb out of household goods.”

Fitz swallowed. “Well, I…, I’m a bit slow. And my hand is shaking from the bullet. It’s been a while since I did anything like this.”

Jemma’s gaze softened. “You’ll get it all back with practice.”

It seemed she was determined he come back to SHIELD with her. Fitz warmed at the thought.

“How is the formula coming along?”

Jemma released his hands as she looked around, and Fitz immediately felt their loss. “Yes, alright. Many of them I am leaving to settle overnight. I’ve just got something to distil and a few other bits and pieces, and then I will be done for the night, too.”

“I better leave you to it, then.” He backed out of the room and returned to his table. He squinted down at the work, trying to concentrate with his sore eyes in the poor lighting. He sighed and got to work. Just as he was finishing, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, turning to find Jemma standing behind him.

“I’m just going to get ready for bed,” she told him. He nodded and turned away from her to give her some privacy. He stared at the case in his hand, desperately trying to focus on it as he heard the rustling of clothing being removed behind him. Staring at the device, it occurred to Fitz for the first time just how dangerous this was going to be. Anything could go wrong. He was no longer completely confident in his ability to engineer machines, so it was entirely possible this would blow up in their faces - literally.

He stood and turned towards Jemma. She was in the centre of the room, clad only in the worn robe they had found in the cupboard. His gaze drifted over the bare skin exposed by the v of the robe’s collar, then raised up and found her eyes. They were warm and inviting.

Fitz strode towards her, intent with purpose. He stopped a few inches from her and cupped her face with both hands.

He held her gaze, feeling more than seeing her breath catch in her throat. He felt a little breathless himself.

“It just occurred to me that we might die tomorrow,” he told her. She nodded slightly in response. “I don’t want to die not having kissed you.”

The corner of her mouth kicked up in a sultry smile and her gaze slowly moved to his lips. “Just a kiss?” she whispered.

A bolt of heat shot straight to his groin. His whole body tightened in anticipation. He leaned forward and pressed his lips softly against hers, testing and tasting her. Jemma melted into him as he continued to brush his lips across hers, but her passivity lasted only a moment. Her tongue slipped into his mouth stroking persuasively across his.

His hand slipped up into her hair as the kiss continued, loosening the strands beneath his fingers. Jemma’s fingers trailed down his back and settled at the waistband of his jeans, teasing back and forth.

He guided them towards the bed, stumbling a little as her hand slipped into his shorts and cupped his arse. When they made it to the bed, Jemma broke the kiss and pushed him lightly so he tumbled back against the mattress, bouncing once. He moved himself up onto his elbows, giving her a questioning look.

Her response was a come-hither look as her hands eased down to the tie on the robe. Fitz’s breath was coming faster as his eyes riveted on her nimble fingers. The robe slipped open to reveal a ribbon of naked skin. Fitz made a sound that was almost a whimper.

“If you hadn’t made a move, I would have,” she told him, her voice throaty.

“Right. Great,” Fitz managed.

She moved between his legs and Fitz sat up, his face conveniently level with her breasts. He placed a kiss between them, tasting her skin. Her hands came up and gripped at his hair, pulling him closer as he moved sideways, laving her nipple with his tongue.

His hands slipped under the robe, parting it as his hands slipped over her soft skin, until his hands rested at her waist. He grazed his teeth gently across her nipple and heard her suck in a quick breath. He did it again, revelling in her responsiveness to him.

All too soon Jemma lost patience and tugged him away. She quickly divested him of his T-shirt and jeans, with a little help from him, both careful of his wound. She still mostly wore the ugly hotel robe, but Fitz failed to notice it given the amount of skin it currently wasn’t covering.

She knelt down in front of him and Fitz nearly choked when he realised her intention.

“Condom,” he said, gesturing to his jeans. Jemma found his wallet and pulled out the condom.

She lowered the waistband of his boxers, freeing him to her gaze. Without hesitation, she gripped him, working him gently. Then, she rolled the condom down with precision. Fitz was already painfully hard, so when she leaned forward and put her lips around him, Fitz bucked a little at the sensation. He stilled instantly. He could feel Jemma’s smile around him at his reaction, so he looked down to watch her as she slowly moved up and down, keeping eye contact with him as best she could.

She sped up, her hands fondling his balls. His hands clutched at the bedspread as he rapidly felt himself losing control, the sensations roaring through his body like he’d never felt before.

“Jemma,” he gasped. “You’ve got to stop, or I’ll…,” he couldn’t finish the sentence, but she knew what he meant, because she eased off with an audible pop. Fitz took a few deep breaths in an attempt to get himself under control. Jemma didn’t give him long, however, because she was soon straddling him.

“Don’t you want me to return the favour?” he gasped out, his fingers already reaching between her legs.

She shook her head, rocking her hips against his stroking fingers. “Next time,” she told him, looking at him intently. Fitz briefly felt his throat tighten with the idea that there might not _be_ a next time. But then Jemma dropped her robe completely and any thought other than the naked woman in his arms fled his mind completely. He used his free hand to pull her down for a quick, desperate kiss.

He inserted one finger into her silky heat, then two, as he continued to work her clit with his thumb. She braced her hands against his chest as her legs began to shake, her fingers curling.

“Now,” she pleaded, and Fitz reluctantly slid his fingers out of her. Only to throw his head back in surprised pleasure as she positioned herself and sunk down; her tight, wet heat enveloping him.

He gripped her hips as she moved, helping her rhythm as he bucked up to meet her. She rolled her hips around him, her eyes closed in concentration. But Fitz couldn’t take his eyes off her. A flush of exertion graced her cheeks and a thin sheen of sweat covered her. He had never seen a more extraordinary sight.

Sparks skittered across his skin, like lightning in his veins. The sensations within him built and shifted endlessly through him. He could feel her everywhere, not just her core tightening around him and the clutch of her hands against his chest, but in the thundering beat of his heart and the cool whispers in the corner of his mind.

She was a part of him.

With that thought, Fitz came, bucking deep into her on his final strokes. Jemma cried out, contracting around him with her release. She collapsed on top of him, panting. He felt boneless and deeply satisfied. She shifted slightly to take her body weight off him and he slipped out of her as she did so.

They lay there for a long moment, breathing hard.

It took a while for them to come back to themselves. As soon as they did, Fitz dealt with the condom, and they manoeuvred under the covers and automatically moved into each other’s arms. Jemma reached over to turn off the lamp and the darkness enveloped them.

Fitz’s mind moved to the next day, and he held her tighter.

“I hope tomorrow goes well,” he whispered.

“It will,” she said with sleepy confidence.

Fitz just wished he could believe her.

`

As if by agreement, they both woke early with the dawn. The two of them showered and dressed largely in melancholy silence, their minds on the day ahead. Fitz called the 24 hour chemist that they had nearly been captured at what felt like a lifetime ago, telling the lad that answered to pass on a message to Kurgan. He hung up before the young man could reply, sure the message would get through one way or another.

He and Jemma collected their work from the night before and slowly constructed the bomb. His hands shook more than he would have liked, but Jemma was kind enough not to mention anything.

They both made a few adjustments to the device before setting the finished product on the desk carefully and backing away. They stood side by side, staring at the instrument that could be their salvation or their doom.

“It’ll work,” Jemma reassured him quietly. Fitz nodded, not trusting himself to say something comforting. Her arm slipped around him and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to her lips for what may be the last time.

“We should go.”

They packed up their things and got back into the Toyota, driving towards the destination they had chosen for the meet.

“Have you thought any more about SHIELD?” Jemma asked.

“I figured if we survive this, then it’s probably a sign I should try to join.” His voice was wry, but he was sincere. If he could survive this, he could survive the potential embarrassment of trying to get back in with SHIELD.

“I think we work well together, don’t you? At least, we did last night.”

Fitz slid his eyes across to her as he grinned. She laughed in response. “Not that part! The science.” She paused, then placed her hand on his knee. “Though that was great, too.”

“Yeah, it was. All of it.” He hesitated. “Do you think they’d let us continue like that? Working together and...being together?”

He stilled as he waited for her answer, unsure if he had assumed too much.

“I don’t know. I’ve never had to ask. I hope so.”

He let out a relieved breath.

Not long after that they arrived at the place they had chosen to meet Kurgan. It was in an open park, dotted with trees and unkempt bushes. People were visible in the distance, giving the illusion of an audience, but no one was close enough that they might get hurt if anything went awry. Fitz had known this place since he was a boy and had many fond memories of playing in the hidden natural corners.

Kurgan, flanked by two of his lackeys in black, waited for them in the centre of the clearing. They all stood, sizing each other up for a few moments.

“Did you bring it?” Kurgan asked, his voice deep and booming.

A shiver ran down Fitz’s spine.

Jemma reached carefully into Fitz’s backpack, which had been co-opted for the occasion, and pulled out the device. The serum moved delicately in the three small vials visible through the casing.

“Why are they separate?” Kurgan asked, his eyebrows lowering in displeasure.

Jemma’s voice was clear and steady as she answered. “The sample will degrade soon after the components are mixed. This is the way to store them if you are actually want time to use them.”

Kurgan grinned wolfishly. “Fantastic.”

As if that was a signal, Kurgan and his two men unholstered their weapons and levelled them at Fitz and Jemma. Fitz’s breathing grew laboured at the sight, but Jemma held firm.

“We had a deal,” she reminded Kurgan.

Kurgan made a face indicating that he didn’t care. “If you can make me this serum, I can’t imagine what other wonders you can produce. They boy, however, is disposable.” Their guns moved slightly, all three aiming directly at Fitz.

“You betrayed us.” Jemma was no good at sounding outraged. They had both known this was coming.

Fitz held still, his eyes on the weapons. Then, the worst possible thing that could happen in that moment, did. A harried woman in sweatpants came into view, chasing a small child that was coming directly for them.

Both he and Jemma glanced at the explosive, knowing that she and the child could very well be in range of the untested and volatile weapon. Time stopped. They had a split second to make the choice before the three men pulled their triggers. Use the weapon to save themselves and risk hurting innocent bystanders, or allow Fitz to be shot.

Fitz sensed Jemma shake the device, and allowed himself a glance at her face. She was looking at him, her eyes filled with such an abundance of trust that Fitz could have sworn his heart stopped.

“Catch,” she said lightly to Kurgan before throwing the bomb in his direction. Kurgan caught it left handed, his gun veering wildly away from Fitz.

Fitz and Jemma ducked, both trying to shield each other from the potential blast. The explosion, when it came, was precisely as big as they had expected. Thankfully, the device was facing in the right direction, and the blast hit Kurgan and his men square in the chest.

As Fitz had planned, the chemical blast was then sucked back into the device after a few metres, retracing its steps and mitigating any potential damage to bystanders such as themselves. Fitz had been absurdly proud of himself when he had designed the yo-yo effect years ago. While figuring out how to give an explosion a predefined blast area had been easy enough, it had taken him years to work out how to get the energy to suck back in and then stop. He was now glad that he’d taken the time to perfect it.

Kurgan’s unconscious body fell to the ground. The remaining pieces of the device crumbled from his hand and onto the grass.

Fitz and Jemma stayed crouched on the ground, breathing heavily as they came to terms with the idea that it was over. They’d won, at least temporarily.

The woman that they’d seen right before the explosion was also hunched over on the ground, cradling her child possessively in her arms and staring at them with a mix of wonder and horror. The blast had been inches from her child before it had been sucked backwards. Fitz felt absurdly proud that his design had worked exactly as he had intended.

He and Jemma stood slowly, staring at the damage as the woman carried her child away from them as fast as her legs would carry her.

“What do we do with them now?” Jemma asked, gesturing at their deserving victims.

“I suppose we try SHIELD again. Do you have any contacts that you’re sure don’t work for Kurgan and wouldn’t ask too many questions about three unconscious bodies?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “We need to deliver him to someone in SHIELD. We have about 24 hours before they wake up.”

They both wracked their brains, thinking of solutions.

It was then that a gust of air blew across them and the whir of an engine that could be better maintained drifted into their hearing. Fitz looked up and nearly missed the shimmer of a cloaked aircraft as it slowly lowered towards them.

It landed with a light thump, and Jemma’s hand slipped into his and squeezed tight.

His heart slammed against his ribcage and a chill trickled down his spine. What if this was Kurgan’s mysterious bosses? Who else would know they were here?

They backed up, keeping their eyes on the plane as it settled nearby.

The bay door opened. Two people appeared; a middle-aged man in a suit and an attractive older Asian woman.

“You must be Dr. Simmons,” the man began, turning to Jemma. She nodded slowly. “I’m Agent Coulson.”

“Agent?” Fitz blurted out.

Coulson turned to him with a frown. “From SHIELD.” He clarified. “Who are you?”

“Er...Fitz. Leo Fitz. So you’re not going to kill us?”

Coulson shrugged. “I don’t intend to?” Then, he turned back to Jemma. “It seems you might have got into some trouble.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, shifting closer to Fitz.

“I see you’ve managed to get yourself out of it quite nicely,” he said, indicating the three unconscious men. “You don’t need our help after all.”

“Well, we still aren’t sure what to do about them,” Jemma told him. “We think they have contacts in SHIELD. They should be questioned. Sir.”

“So that’s how they found our rescue party? Someone in SHIELD tipped them off?”

“We believe so,” Jemma informed him.

“Such a shame. Rodriquez was a good agent.” Coulson seemed genuinely mournful, and that more than anything reassured Fitz.

The woman with Coulson wandered over to the bodies and began hauling them into the plane. Fitz watched in awe.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?” Jemma asked, confused.

“Well, I was hoping that we would swoop in to your rescue, and then you would agree to come work for us,” Coulson replied.

“But I already work for SHIELD,” Jemma reminded him with a furrowed brow.

“But you don’t work for _my_ team. We are a mobile unit, dealing with problems as they arise across the globe.”

“Out of the lab? But I didn’t pass my field assessment.”

“You have more important talents in other areas,” Coulson reassured her.

“Do you need an engineer?” Fitz asked hesitantly.

Coulson’s eyes riveted on Fitz as if noticing him for the first time. “Are you one?” he asked.

“Yes,” Fitz replied.

“Are you good? Did you design the explosion thing we saw as we were coming down? The one that avoided hitting the innocent?”

“Yes. Though Jemma did the chemistry side of it.”

Coulson turned to Jemma. “Is he good?”

“Yes. We work really well together,” Jemma said with a further squeeze of his hand.

Coulson appeared to consider. “If you’re that good, why aren’t you working with us already?”

“I started my training, but had to abandon it when my Mum got sick. Then, I ran into a bit of trouble, and couldn’t find my way back.”

“Trouble with the law, trouble?”

Fitz hesitated. “Yes, sir. I worked for a chop shop.” Better to get it out there right away.

“Meaning you must be good with engines,” Coulson stated.

“Yeah,” Fitz replied, seeing no reason to fake modesty.

“You ever worked on a plane like this before?” Coulson asked.

“No, but I’d love to get my hands on it. I’m pretty sure from the sound of the engine as it came down that it needs a bit of tuning. I could figure out how to do it, no problem.”

“We’ll see. Jump on board and we’ll talk about it. We are on our way to New York.”

Fitz looked over to Jemma. They shared a long look. “Yeah?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she replied with a nod of the head and a smile.

The two moved towards the plane, Jemma’s hand a warm and comforting weight in his. For the first time in a long time Fitz could see a future - one of opportunities and challenges - expanding out before him into the distance.

 


End file.
